Part 2 (2/2)

”There are plenty of things I'd like to know,” he admitted.

”And plenty of things I ain't goin' to tell you, neither--for the reason that Forest advised against it,” Ezra went on. ”I don't understand it--but he says you've got a lot better chance to get your memory workin' clear again if things are recalled to you by the aid of 'stimuli' instead of having any one tell you. I've agreed to supply the 'stimuli.'

”I don't see any harm in tellin' you that the guesses you've already made are right. Your name is Ben Darby--and you used to be known as 'Wolf' Darby--for reasons that sooner or later you may know. Abner Darby was your father. Edith Darby was your sister that ain't no more. You went awhile to MacLean's College, in Ontario.

”Now, Ben, I'm going to put a proposition up to you. I'm hoping you'll see fit to accept it. And I might as well say right here, that while it's the best plan possible to bring you back your memory, and that while it offers just the kind of 'stimuli' you're supposed to need, neither 'stimuli' nor stimulus or stimulum has got very much to do with it. I argued that point mighty strong because I knew it would appeal to Forest, and through him, to the governor. I don't see it makes a whale of a lot of difference whether you get your memory back or not.

”Maybe you don't foller me. But you know and I know you're all right now, remembering clear enough everything that happened since you was arrested, and I don't see what difference it makes whether or not you remember who your great-aunt was, and the sc.r.a.pes you got in as a kid.

You can talk and walk and figger, get by in any comp'ny, and you suit me for a buddy just as you are. However, Forest seemed to think it was mighty important--and it may be.

”The reason I'm goin' to take you where I'm goin' to take you is for your own good. I'm sort of responsible for you, bein' your folks are dead. I know you from head to heel, and I think I know what's good for you, what you can do and what you can't do and where you succeed and where you fail. And I'll say right here you wasn't born to be no gangman in a big city like Seattle. You'll find that isn't your line at all.”

”I'm willing to take your word for that, Mr. Melville,” Ben interposed quietly.

”And I might say, now a good time as any, to let up on the '_Mister_.'

My name is Ezra Melville, and I've been known as 'Ezram' as long as I can remember, to my friends. The Darbys in particular called me that, and you're a Darby.

”I'll say in the beginning I can't do for you all I'd like to do, simply because I haven't the means. The first time you saw me I was walkin'

ties, and you'll see me walkin' some more of 'em before you're done. I know you ain't got any money, and due to the poker habit I ain't got much either--in spite of the fact I've done two men's work for something over forty years. On this expedition to come we'll have to go on the cheaps. No Pullmans, no hotels--sleeping out the hay when we're caught out at night. Maybe ridin' the blinds, whenever we can. I'm awful sorry, but it jest can't be helped. But I will say--when it comes to work I can do my full share, without kickin'.”

Ben stared in amazement. It was almost as if the old man were pleading a case, rather than giving glorious alms to one to whom hope had seemed dead. Ben tried to cut in, to ask questions, but the old man's words swept his own away.

”To begin at the beginning, I've got a brother--leastwise I had him a few weeks ago--Hiram Melville by name,” Ezram went on. ”You'd remember him well enough. He was a prospector up to a place called Snowy Gulch--a town way up in the Caribou Mountains, in Canada. Some weeks ago, herdin'

cattle in Eastern Oregon, I got a letter from him, and started north, runnin' into you on the way up. The letter's right here.”

He drew a white envelope from his coat pocket, opening it slowly. ”This is a real proposition, son,” he went on in a sobered voice. ”I'm mighty glad that I've got something, at least worth lookin' into, to let you in on. I only wish it was more.”

”Why should you want to let me in on anything?” Ben asked clearly.

The direct question received only a stare of blank amazement from Ezram.

”Why should I--” he repeated, seemingly surprised out of his life by the question. ”Shucks, and quit interruptin' me. But I'll say right here I've got my own ideas, if you must know. Didn't I hear that while you was rampin' around the underworld, you showed yourself a mighty good fighter? Well, there's likely to be some fightin' where we're goin', and I want some one to do it besides myself. If there ain't fightin', at least they'll be worklots of work. Maybe I'm gettin' a little too old to do much of it. I want a buddy--some one who will go halfway with me.”

”Therefore I suppose you go to the 'pen' to find one,” Ben commented, wholly unconvinced.

”I'm going to make this proposition good,” Ezram went on as if he had not heard, ”probably a fourth--maybe even a third--to you. And I ain't such a fool as I look, neither. I know the chances of comin' out right on it are twice as good if somebody young and strong, and who can fight, is in on it with me. Listen to this.”

Opening the letter, he read laboriously:

Snowy Gulch, B.C.

DEAR BROTHER EZRA:--

I rite this with what I think is my dying hand. It's my will too.

I'm at the hotel at Snowy Gulch--and not much more time. You know I've been hunting a claim. Well, I found it--rich a pocket as any body want, worth a quarter million any how and in a district where the Snowy Gulch folks believe there ain't a grain of gold.

It's yours. Come up and get it quick before some thieves up hear jump it. Lookout for Jeffery Neilson and his gang they seen some of my dust. I'm too sick to go to recorder in Bradleyburg and record claim. Get copy of this letter to carry, put this in some safe place. The only condition is you take good care of Fenris, the pet I raised from a pup. You'll find him and my gun at Steve Morris's.

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